|
Topic: Joan Woodward
By Christine Anne Piesyk | September 28, 2008 |
In the mid-1990’s, I watched the craft of Joan Woodward unfold in the stage classic Arsenic and Old Lace at the Long Wharf Theater in New Haven, Connecticut. As the “bodies” emerged from the basement to make their curtain call, the guy in the red baseball hat, with the blue eyes and charming smile, was her husband, Paul Newman, for whom no credit appeared on the program. With a devilish wink and a wave, he was there, and gone again. Flanking me, my daughter and my mother, had arms outstretched, fingers pointing, “It’s him. Oh my God, it’s him!”
Paul Newman died Friday of cancer in his Westport home, not far from that theater of which he and his wife were so supportive. He was 83.
As a film buff and as a critic, I considered Newman one of the “gods” of the industry, exuding charm, passion,m a sense of humor, and finely honed skills in a body of work that continually placed on “best films” or “fan favorites.” Not every film was great, but in Newman’s case, the noteworthy outnumbered the rest, and his performances consistently enthralled viewers. «Read the rest of this article»
Sections: Arts and Leisure, News, Opinion | No Comments
|